Today's poem is "Solemn, wide-mouthed streets"
from Her Last Cup of Light

Aldrich Press

Annmarie O’Connell is a lifelong resident of the South Side of Chicago and a graduate of New England College's MFA program in Henniker, New Hampshire. Her work has appeared in A-Minor Magazine, THRUSH Poetry Journal and SOFTBLOW and is forthcoming in Whiskey Island Magazine, Slipstream Press, and Camroc Press Review.

Books by Annmarie O’Connell:

Other poems on the web by Annmarie O’Connell:
"Dear Waylon"
Four poems
Three poems

Annmarie O’Connell's Blog.

Annmarie O’Connell's Website.

Annmarie O’Connell According to Wikipedia.

Annmarie O’Connell on Twitter.

About Her Last Cup of Light:

"In Her Last Cup of Light, Annmarie O’Connell wrings grace and raw-boned beauty from a ravaged city and its scarred inhabitants. The lyricism here is hard-won and also fearless, as O’Connell beholds how “the light/ turns on in things that are alive,” and blesses us all with an astonishing compassion. A gorgeous, stirring debut."
—Paula McLain

"In Annmarie O’Connell’s luminious first book, she chronicles the broken lives, the desperate life-death struggles that often occur unseen though they take place right before our eyes. She draws us close to the man who lives in an abandoned garage and touches her baby’s cheek with his dirty hand; the waitress who lives in the red-white brick bungalow. The power of these poems comes from Annmarie O’Connell’s considerable lyric gift. This young poet has something to say and the ability to say it with great force and beauty."
—Jeff Friedman

"This is a book where you will see grief and light, and know that there are “fistfuls of loss,” and there are “dirt beds,” but in the end you will find hope because “this morning's light / gives you a certain gentleness /over the long slope of your nose.” The lyric tilt of these poems is no easy thing to achieve. They are daring, they sparkle, blaze, and they remind us that “a shaft of sunlight enters the earth / the way death enters us / so miraculously inside.” The knowledge such miracles is in itself a miracle, found in grief. How to go on with it? Why? Because, perhaps, as the author admits, “the baby’s asleep beside me.” These are beautiful, revealing poems."
—Ilya Kaminsky

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